


funny, each time i fall in love, it's always you.

by badmeetsevil



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Eating, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, Hair-pulling, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Overstimulation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Praise Kink, no beta we die like men, they are DEEPLY in love in this, william schofield has a big dick, you know the mixture of degradation and praise kink? Yeah thats here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22660216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badmeetsevil/pseuds/badmeetsevil
Summary: He never wants to forget moments like this.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 14
Kudos: 171





	1. funny, each time i fall in love, it's always you.

**Author's Note:**

> im a homosexual this is for me and me only
> 
> title from it's always you by chet baker
> 
> i dont know any british words and frankly, i dont care to learn them. beginning is shaky there's no plot they got one day off and they're gonna F U C K.
> 
> also because ao3 fucking hates me: the period-typical homophobia is very brief (literally one paragraph if that)

He should expect it, Blake’s _nineteen_. 

He expects the dirty jokes and the passing comments Blake makes towards women he’s seen in town. Schofield’s heard it all before, especially from Blake. He’s heard every joke, every variation of, "look how big her breasts are!" He's heard, likely, every variation of every thing anyone could say about a woman. He’s so young and stupid, what else should he expect? 

What he _doesn’t_ expect is wake up on a morning with Blake practically rutting against him, and what he especially doesn’t expect is what exactly that would lead to.

Now, they’ve got one day off. _One_. Schofield doesn’t know how they snagged it on the same day, but he thanks God that they did. 

It's not enough time for them to go home, to see their families, to spend the night with them. But, it is enough time for them to find a home for the night, to make a home with each other. 

Schofield has always liked women, always. He likes their soft faces and their plump lips and their curvy bodies. Blake doesn’t exactly have that. Blake has a soft face, sure, but it’s from baby fat and not from womanhood. Blake’s lips are small, a straight line, and there’s not one curve in his body. The occasional, rare peaking of a mustache above Blake’s upper lip frankly scares him off more than anything sometimes. 

But, he can’t help it. There's really something about him that he loves. 

They find a room in a local inn, and they can barely get in the room before they’re all over each other. They’ve just gotten the door closed when Schofield starts to touch Blake.

Schofield takes Blake’s chin in his fingers, and Blake is so strong but _God_ , his face is so young. He’s so soft, and Schofield can’t help but swipe a caring thumb across the blushing cheek. His hand spreads out and he takes him by the jaw, leaning him in for a kiss. 

Blake kisses back. 

And Blake kisses back _hard_. 

Blake kisses like he’s never been kissed before in his life. Anyone could come in, anyone could see them, and neither of them, in the moment, have a care in the world. All that exists is Will’s hand on Tom’s jaw, and Tom’s hands balled up in Will’s collar. Schofield is the one to put away first, to pull Blake's head back gently by his jaw. Blake almost tumbles forward, seeking more, and Schofield gives a small smile.

He can’t even make it to the bed. Schofield drops to the floor, and holds Blake’s hand as he does it. 

“What’re you doin’?” Blake muses, an infectious smile on his face.

Schofield says nothing, just pulls on his hand. 

“Let’s go to the bed, darling,” Blake purrs, that sweet name he’s given Schofield dripping with the exact voice that gets Schofield to be putty in his hands. It doesn’t work this time. 

“We’ll have all night for the bed, dear,” Schofield whispers to him, pulls him down onto the floor with the slightest tug of his arm. Blake laughs as he collapses into his lap and pulls him into another kiss, this one short lived. Schofield pulls away, reaches his neck towards Blake’s ear and whispers to him, “Want to make you mine on every _inch_ of this room.”

He bites the lobe of Blake’s ear. Blake shivers hard. 

Blake kneels and puts himself on either side of Schofield's left thigh. It gives him about three inches on Schofield, and Schofield likes it when Blake takes a bit of control of their positions. He likes looking up at Blake, because he can admire him more. The barely peeking through the window sunrise illuminates Blake from behind, and Schofield takes his head back into his hand.

He’s an angel.

He's so blessed to be in Blake's presence.

The older male runs his hands up and down Blake's clothed torso, trying to feel whatever he can through it. "Wanna see you," Schofield says barely, masked under his breath. Blake hears him. 

He starts tugging at his own shirt buttons fast, and lets out a soft moan of, "Wanna see you, too."

Schofield gets his shirt off in no time, probably the fastest anyone's ever done it, or at least that's how it feels. He watches as Blake drapes the shirt down and off his shoulders, and Schofield gives the final push to derobe him of the green color. His hands are finally, _finally_ , able to feel the soft skin of his lover's chest. Schofield leans in, gives a soft kiss in the middle of Blake's pecs, presses his head into him, trying to absorb everything he is.

He never wants to forget moments like this.

Schofield stretches himself upwards and gives him a light kiss on the cheek, and it causes Blake to let out a breathy laugh. Schofield wants to listen to that sound forever. 

It's a shame they had to meet like this, through war. Schofield could picture an entire life with Blake. 

Schofield's thumb crosses the path from his jaw bone to his lips. The working finger drags slowly across Blake's pink bottom lip. Blake instinctively opens his mouth, takes the digit between his lips, and gently lathers it with his tongue. All without breaking eye contact with Schofield.

Schofield is surprised he didn't finish in his fucking trousers right there.

"You cheeky cunt," Schofield mutters, freeing his thumb from the soft, wet cavern of Blake's mouth. Blake laughs again and he leans down to capture Schofield in another kiss. It's gentle but it's passionate, it's the perfect mixture of what they need.

Schofield had heard of homosexuals before the war, of course. People had talked about them like they were a dirty little secret, but this was normal for him. In his months in the war, men often developed deep, passionate relationships with each other. Some of the relationships turned romantic, others didn't. The ones that did turn out that way were often met with ridicule and disgust. 

Blake lets out barely a whisper of a moan when Schofield bites down on his bottom lip, and Schofield thinks, _how could anyone be disgusted by this?_

“Scho, come on…” Blake practically whispers, breaking the older man out of his thoughts, and grinds his crotch down onto Schofield’s leg, and hearing his last name come out of Blake’s name _like that_ kind of does something to him that it definitely shouldn’t do. 

Schofield decides, quite quickly, to be a cunt, to be an absolutely teasing bastard and not give into what Blake wants, what Blake _needs_. “What do you want, dear?” Schofield asks, trying to hide the smirk that almost covers his face. 

“Oh, you’re a real bastard, aren’t you?”

“Come on, baby, be good for me,” Schofield tries to ignore the rut of Blake’s hips especially when he uses that phrasing, “you’re always so good for me, baby. Tell me, what do you want?” 

"Don't make me-."

"Come on, be a good boy," Schofield provokes him. He runs one of his fingers down the crotch of his trousers to prove a point and watches as Blake's hips thrust up to catch it. Schofield laughs, "Are you gonna be good now?" 

Blake nods.

"Tell me, what do you want?"

Blake’s voice, in a manner of seconds, has gone completely airy. There’s not an ounce of dignity left in it.

“Need you to touch me, please, _God_ , _please_ ,” he whines.

It’s amazing what Schofield can do to him. 

“Alright, baby, alright, come here,” Schofield quiets him, pulls him forward, closer if that's even possible, by the belt loops in his trousers. He begins to fumble with his belt, and teasingly drags his palm across the front of his groin for added effect. Blake doesn’t have enough time to call him an asshole before Schofield’s pulling down the front of his underwear. 

Cold air is the first thing that hits Blake’s cock, and it makes his arms cover in goosebumps. Schofield quickly spits in his hand, and the second thing that hits Blake’s cock is the warm, wet grasp of Schofield’s hand. 

A broken moan shakes through Blake, just at the contact. 

And Schofield doesn’t move a fucking inch. 

“Show me what you want,” Schofield tells him, a playful smile tugging at his lips, and Blake could punch him in the face right fucking now, “show me how to touch you. _Beg_ me.” 

He’s joking, kind of, but it makes Blake blush a deep red. 

Schofield is always so respectful and quiet and overall introverted. He never speaks over anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary. Blake would never expect him to demand anything from anyone, unless it was a life or death situation. 

He would’ve never expected him to tell Blake to _beg_.

With lazy little rocks of his hips, Blake mumbles, “you’re such an asshole.”

Schofield ducks his head into the crook of Blake’s neck and nips at the soft, sensitive skin there. “You love it, baby,” he murmurs into the pale flesh. Becoming suddenly overwhelmed by the various sensations, Blake’s body half collapses into Schofield, using him as support. One leg fixes itself between Schofield’s legs, and he’s able to turn so he’s sitting on most of Schofield’s lap.

Teeth and tongue attack Blake’s neck, and everything is almost too much. Blake has one arm thrown around Schofield’s neck, gripping onto his shoulder for dear life, while his other palm is pressed firmly into the floor to steady himself. 

Blake would give everything to stay in this moment forever.

What Blake would give to throw the whole war away, for Schofield to come home to him every single night. All he wants is to live a domestic life with him, play a role with him. It could never work, and if this is all he can get out of this fantasy, he’ll take it.

“Don’t drift off, baby,” Schofield tells him, distracts him from his thoughts. He takes his chin between his index finger and his thumb and turns his head to look at him. 

Blake's hips stop thrusting so rhythmically, and Schofield takes this as the opportunity to stroke him. Slow, soft touches that make a shiver go down Blake's spine so hard that Schofield swears he can feel it too. "You're so beautiful, Tom," Schofield whispers, and Blake isn't sure if he even realized he said it.

It makes his face go red and his cock twitch, regardless.

Schofield speaks clear this time, presses his mouth towards Blake's ear to make sure only he can hear what he's saying. "Are you close?" He whispers, voice sultry, and he bites on his ear lobe again, "Gonna come for me?"

Another shiver rips through Blake, before he lets out a pathetic little noise that halfway dies in the back of his throat. Schofield makes a small "awe" noise, almost condescending, putting Blake below him, and Blake can't take it anymore. 

Blake doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he comes. “Good boy, good boy,” Schofield praises him through his orgasm, and Blake lets out a breath like he’s been underwater for days. His teeth bite down hard on his lip, an instinct to keep him from screaming out Will’s name, and his fingers look for leverage on Schofield’s shoulder. His hips stutter as they continue to fuck upwards into Schofield’s hand, which has almost completely stopped moving at this point.

Blake can hardly breathe. 

Schofield moves his hand rapidly all of a sudden, and he does not let up. 

“Scho, Scho-” Blake moans, half in pain, half in pleasure, barely audible. It’s so much, it’s almost too much. His entire lower half tries desperately to pull away from him, but it’s no use: Schofield’s taken one of his hands and wrapped it around his waist, holding him as firm in place as he can. “Will, Will, _Will_!” Blake whimpers. 

Schofield still jerks him off like he hasn’t come yet. “Come on, baby, come on,” he whispers to his lover, breath ghosting over the shell of his ear, “give me another one, be good for me. You’re gonna come again, yeah? Gonna be good for me?”

Blake’s moan is ripped out of him like a ghost. “Please…” His voice is so airy and light and he’s barely audible and _God, he’s so unbelievably beautiful._ “S-Slow down…” he whispers, white knuckling Schofield’s shoulder. 

“Do you need me to stop?” 

“J-Just slow!” He shouts, his hips suddenly bucking upwards into Schofield’s hand, his body giving over to pleasure. 

Schofield slows his movements but strokes him with the same consistency, and words spill out of him like he’s unable to control them. Schofield always slips in a little bit of dirty talking whenever they have more than ten minutes to themselves, but it’s never much more than off hand comments about how good Blake is or feels. 

He sounds like he’s been fucking planning this. 

He speaks in a way that Blake, in his months of knowing him, would have never expected him to speak. It’s all swear words and demands and _it's bringing him right to the fucking edge again_. 

“Come on baby, come for me. All you have to do is come for me, and I’ll stop. You’ve been so, so good for me, I just wanna reward you. Give you your second of so many I’ll give you tonight. Wanna make you feel good all fucking night, baby. We are just getting fucking started. You wanna be good for me? Then _fucking come_.” 

That rips Blake’s orgasm out of him in a blinding way. He goes to scream but it dies in the back of his throat as a ghostly moan. 

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Schofield whispers to him, into the pale skin of his neck, “You’re so good, you’re so fucking good for me.” 

Schofield continues to stroke him, to get him through his high, and Blake knows he cannot handle anything else. He puts his significantly smaller hand atop Schofield's, running his fingers along the prominent veins, which are now slightly sticky with his own fluids, to try to uncloud his mind and keep himself grounded. 

"Are you alright?" Schofield asks, voice soft, like he could hurt him with just his words. 

Blake is still panting a little. He has this perfect, post-orgasm glow to him, and he takes Schofield's wrist in his hands, brings his fingers, still covered in his own cum, up to his mouth. He brings one finger into his mouth after the other, cleaning them, coating his tongue in his own salty fluid. 

Again, Schofield is surprised he didn't come right there. 

Instead, he removes his hand from Blake's mouth, cups his jaw, and kisses him slow. 

Schofield loves him. 

"Let me…" Blake is cut off by Schofield kissing him again, "...get you off." Blake's hands reach for the buttons on Schofield's trousers, but he stops him. 

He takes a hold of Blake's hand, kisses his fingertips, each of them. Somehow, even after sex, this is the stuff that gets Blake to blush. "We've got all night, darling," Schofield whispers as he turns over his hand and kisses Blake's palm, "you need to rest." 

Blake loves him. 

Blake kisses him, slow and soft. 

"Was I too much?" Schofield asks, sincerely. 

Blake shakes his head immediately, "You were… unbelievable. I don't think I've ever come that hard, or frankly that fast, in my life." 

"Got you to shut up for a moment, didn't it?" Schofield pretends to be serious, and only smiles when he sees Blake's fake offended reaction. 

"You cunt!" 

Blake laughs, and Schofield kisses him again. 


	2. but darling can't you see, there's no one more important to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ee er
> 
> title from a song for you by donny hathaway

Blake must’ve fallen asleep after the stint on the floor. 

He wakes up, still feeling tired, but the sun is still out, so he definitely must not have been asleep long. He slowly stirs out of being half conscious and stretches his arms out, a small noise of surprise escaping his mouth when his limbs crack. He moves his neck left, then right, then left again, and his neck cracks from the sudden movement. 

It takes him too long to realize he’s in the bed. It takes him even longer to realize he’s in the bed alone. 

Blake, through still half-lidded eyes, looks over at the left side of the room. Schofield is sitting in an old oak chair, one foot planted firmly on the ground, and his other leg thrown over the arm of the chair. His elbow rests on his knee as he reads a book. He’s bathed in the golden light of the sun, and Blake watches the dust from the room dance around him. He smiles at him.

He loves him.

“How long was I asleep?” Blake whispers, suddenly taking Schofield out of his book completely. 

Schofield presses one of the corners of the page down to mark his place in his book, and tosses it onto the floor. “Not long,” he replies, looking at his watch, “couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes.” 

Schofield stands, and practically dives onto the bed next to Blake. The bed isn’t the best: it’s kind of hard in some places and softer in others, but it’s perfect for both of them. When Schofield’s body hits the mattress, it bounces a little, causing Blake to shake, which results in a laugh from him. When Schofield is situated on the bed, Blake takes no time to curl up against his chest. 

Blake is still naked, Schofield still has his trousers on. The younger man lets his hand trail up and down Schofield’s chest, stroking the hardened muscle there, and his lips lazily leave little kisses in areas he can reach. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?” Blake asks him before he can think about what he’s asking.

“Like what? Sexually?” Schofield asks, one of his hands finding his way into Blake’s hair. He strokes the back of his head lovingly, playing with the little hairs there. 

Blake nods. “You never really… speak like that, ever.” Blake’s attention has turned from Schofield’s toned torso to his hands, and he holds one of them in both his hands. Schofield’s so much bigger than he is. Blake’s fingers trail across the large veins, across his knuckles, and he finds himself rubbing his hand, like it’s relaxing him. 

Schofield laughs, watching the boy make work of his hands. “Not sure, guess it just sort of spills out when I’m in the mood.” 

Blake nods, mumbles something along the lines of, “well, I hope you’re in the mood soon.”

Blake’s eyes seem to close in relaxation and content while Schofield plays with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Blake has stopped stroking Schofield’s hand and lazily holds onto one of his fingers. Blake is so at peace in this moment, that he doesn’t see the smirk playing onto Schofield’s lips. 

Schofield moves his hand from the back of Blake’s head to the top, fingers lacing in the dark hair, fingertips rubbing at his scalp. The noise that comes out of Blake is practically a moan, airy and soft, loving and gentle. _Perfect_. Schofield takes this as a moment to grip Blake’s hair with a pretty fair amount of strength and yank his head back, exposing the pale flesh of his neck with a few new bite marks on it. 

Blake _moans_. 

Schofield dips his head down towards Blake’s ear and his breath ghosts over the shell of it. “Does it seem like I’m in the mood?”

It’s so cheesy, but Blake doesn’t have time to respond before Schofield is sucking on his neck again. He’s still so, so sensitive from before, sensitive to the point where it surprises him, and his voice pitches up as he moans. He finds his words and whimpers out a, “yeah, yeah it does.”

“Smart boy,” Schofield whispers, biting onto Blake’s neck hard. He sucks particularly hard at his throat, tongue and teeth teasing his nearly shaking Adam’s apple. 

Blake pipes up, “I cannot sit here and be teased anymore.” 

Schofield laughs, and gently pushes Blake off of his lap and onto the bed without a word. Blake repositions himself on the bed with a little noise in the back of his throat, putting his body weight onto his elbows. Schofield reaches into the drawer of the nightstand to retrieve the vaseline tin that he had stored in there for easy access. He would like nothing more than to leave Blake pent up and begging for hours, or make him come another two or three or four times, but he wants Blake to have fun too.

Not that Blake wouldn’t like either of those things, of course. 

“How do you want me?” Blake whispers, voice silky smooth. It makes Schofield’s cock stiffen in his trousers, his trousers that Blake didn’t even fucking know _why_ he was still wearing them. 

Schofield’s eyes rake up and down Blake’s body, and Blake all of a sudden grows semi-self conscious. His body is not as toned as his lover’s, he’s much softer around the edges, and he’s most certainly not as gifted in the genital region as Schofield. But, Schofield’s eyes look down at his already hard cock, and his eyes grow even darker in his lustful endeavor, and his head swoops down to his groin. 

Schofield takes the base of Blake’s cock in his fist, and he takes the head of it into his mouth. Blake’s entire body reacts, convulsing with sensitivity, as his hands go into Schofield’s hair. His palms try to push him away but his fingers curl in his hair as if to bring him closer. Schofield sucks him down halfway into his throat, pushing forward slightly to take his entire cock down his throat in a swift motion, before pulling off of his cock completely. 

“Will,” Blake pants out, one hand still in Schofield’s hair, the other tangled in the bed sheet. Schofield brings one of his hands up and holds the hand that Blake has in the bed sheets to keep him grounded. He rakes his thumb over Blake’s fingers, and keeps lazily sucking at the head of his cock, humming around it and causing vibrations to shake up his spine. “Will,” Blake tries again, “I need you inside me _now or I’m gonna go fucking crazy.”_

__

Blake’s a little embarrassed to admit that he’s already close again, and he lets out a sigh of content when Schofield pulls off of him, even if it’s for a moment.

__

“Oh, my baby _needs_ it, hm?” Schofield chastises him, and Blake blushes deep red almost instantaneously, “I know, baby, I know, I’ll give you it.” Schofield takes the top off of the vaseline tin and coats his fingers in it. 

__

He watches as Blake watches every little move he makes, and when he goes to put his fingers to Blake’s hole, Blake instinctively hoists his legs up a little higher, arms wrapped around the back of his thighs to keep himself steady and open for him. Schofield smiles, “Are you always this good for me?” he asks, “Or are you just greedy today?”

__

Blake nods, and Schofield laughs, genuine in his chest. Blake’s so focused on the sound that he practically jumps when he feels the cold vaseline and calloused fingers circle his hole. When there’s a significant amount of vaseline around and on his opening, Schofield eases him open with his thumb. When he first taps on his hole with his thumb, his hole flutters, tries to take him inside immediately, and Schofield almost laughs. 

__

Without warning, Schofield thrusts his index finger in Blake’s tight hole. Blake moans at the intrusion, and then moans again when Schofield leans down and takes his cock back in his mouth to relax him. Blake could die here, and that would be alright. His entire body shakes with that mixture of pleasure that borders on pain, and his hand is back in Schofield’s hair, grasping at it for leverage. His moans are frequent and breathy, like all the air inside him is being forced out through them. 

__

Schofield pops off of his cock for just a moment, “You’re so, _so_ beautiful, Tom.”

__

Blake blushes deep at that, and brings his free hand up to cover his now reddening face. Schofield smiles and goes back low enough to his cock so that he can feel his hot breath against his spit covered shaft. “Listen to me,” he starts and Blake listens, trying to ignore the finger pumping in and out of him, tightens his grip in Schofield’s hair, “you can come whenever you like, baby, whenever you’re ready, but know this: when you come, I will not stop until I am done with you.” 

__

Blake thinks he actually will die here, and he thinks that there would be no better way to go out. 

__

“Yeah, yeah, _please_ ,” he moans out, barely a comprehensible response. 

__

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Schofield whispers, “and you’re all mine.”

__

His cock is back in Schofield’s mouth and Blake becomes painfully aware at just how close he is. He bites on his forearm to keep himself from shouting, and he knows he’s gonna come at any fucking second when Schofield pumps his one finger out and pumps two back in. He scissors them as they work their way in and out of Blake’s tight body, trying to loosen him as much as possible. His long middle finger reaches much further than his index finger could, and every thrust of his fingers sends shockwaves through his body, as each thrust either brushes against or nails directly into his prostate. 

__

They’ve been at this for long enough for Schofield to know exactly where Blake’s more sensitive areas are, inside out and out. So, when Blake feels Schofield rubbing at his walls, rubbing _directly_ on that bundle of nerves, he barely has time to warn him. 

__

“Gonna c-come!” He whines. 

__

Schofield takes his two fingers out, thrusts three back in, and rubs hard on his prostate.

__

Blake _screams_ when he comes. 

__

Schofield sucks Blake down when he comes, swallows every drop of cum that he can manage. It comes out of him fast, and his hips rock back and forth, fucking himself on Schofield’s fingers and fucking up into Schofield’s mouth. His chest heaves, his stomach shakes, his eyes are glossy. He’s absolutely fucked out. 

__

“I need you in me,” Blake pants, still coming down, “right fucking now.”

__

“I’d be more than happy to oblige,” Schofield replies, and leans down to kiss Blake. Blake presses his tongue into Schofield’s mouth, trying to taste the mixture of the two of them, and he moans when he tastes Schofield’s tongue and his mouth mixed with his cum. There’s something unquestionably erotic about being able to taste himself on his lover’s tongue. 

__

They pull apart so Schofield can take his trousers off, and Blake watches as he does it. His eyes are hungry, and he practically moans when Schofield’s trousers are down and around his thighs. He then removes them and his underwear entirely. As cliche as it could sound, Schofield’s cock was perfect. It was like it was made for him. He was long and considerably girthy and it was absolutely sculpted to fit perfectly inside of Blake. 

__

Schofield felt the same way. 

__

He lathers his cock in a thick layer of vaseline, and Blake goes back to holding his legs up. Schofield looks at his tight pink hole, and he almost groans just imagining how it’s gonna feel around him. Oh, Blake has no idea what’s in store for him tonight. Schofield can’t fucking wait. 

__

The wide head of his cock begins to press into Blake, breaching the first ring of muscle there, and Blake already begins to rock his hips back, trying to take more of him. Schofield tuts, jokingly, “Baby, don’t be so greedy, you’re always so good for me, so I need you to keep that up for me.”

__

Blake moans softly, his cock already beginning to stiffen again. Schofield is so surprised that he had not cum dozens of times through the night, everything about Blake makes him unbelievably hot. He wants Blake to feel good, to feel so good that it makes him dizzy. 

__

He presses his entire head into Blake’s body, and his eyes roll back into his head, desperate for more. “You’re so fucking beautiful baby, so good for me. Body was made for me to fuck,” he grunts, pressing in faster now. 

__

Blake always shakes whenever Schofield presses into him for the first time all night. He’s used to his size by now, of course, they’ve fucked dozens of times, but it always takes him by surprise at just how fucking big he is. His breaths are shallow, and Schofield stops when Blake has half of him inside. 

__

“You’re almost there, baby, almost,” Schofield promises, pressing a calloused hand onto Blake’s warm, soft stomach. He lovingly traces patterns into his skin, “You’re doing so well for me, darling. You’re always so, so good for me. I’m so happy to have such a good boy, you’re my good boy, baby.” 

__

Blake wants to cry with how good he feels. Tears prick in his eyes, and one rolls down his cheek. Schofield notices and catches it on his thumb, wiping it away. “Feels too good, honey?” Schofield asks, as a check in to make sure he’s not actually hurting him, to make sure that he actually feels good. 

__

“It’s so fucking good, Scho,” he whimpers, and Schofield takes this as permission to push the rest of his cock into Blake’s body. 

__

He presses forward, and all the air in Blake’s lungs is forced out when he feels Schofield’s thighs flushed up against his ass. Blake immediately begins to try to fuck himself on Schofield’s cock, rather than take it slow as to not hurt himself. 

__

Schofield grabs Blake’s hips, pins them down to the bed, much to Blake’s dismay as he lets out a whine from the back of his throat. “Baby, I keep telling you how good you’re doing and you keep going against me. Quit being such a fucking brat.”

__

Blake moans at that and Schofield laughs. “Oh, you like that, huh?” He asks, “You like being a little brat, huh? A little cunt who goes against my wishes? You always want me to tell you how good you do, and you always do so good for me, baby, but I think that maybe you just want to be a bad boy for me. Do you want that? Do you want to go against me?” 

__

Blake wants to be good so bad, but goddamn, being a brat sounds like fun. Maybe another day. Blake doesn’t answer.

__

“That’s what I thought,” he releases Blake’s hips from the bed, but keeps a grip on them as leverage, “Now, just lie there, be a good boy, and let me make you feel good.”

__

Schofield rolls his hips, fucking into him slowly but steadily, holding onto his hips tightly, tight enough to probably leave bruises that Blake will marvel at for days whenever he gets a second to himself. He imagines that if they were home, and if there were no war, after Schofield would fuck him like this, he would press his fingers into the bruises to feel like Schofield was still there, and masturbate purely to the feeling of the bruises. 

__

Schofield picks up his pace, fucking into him quickly, chasing his own orgasm but trying to keep up a pace that won’t cause Blake any discomfort. But, from the look on his face, Blake is _loving_ this.

__

Blake’s eyes, when they are staring straight ahead and not completely rolled into the back of his head, are half lidded and glossy, full of lust and love for the man he’s with. His mouth is open, trying to take in as much oxygen as he can, making little “ah, ah, ah!” sounds whenever Schofield fucks forward. He wants nothing more than to fuck back on Schofield’s cock, to flip them over so he can ride him, to feel Schofield’s hands roam his body and pinch and scratch and caress every inch of him.

__

It’s torture, laying there like this. 

__

He’s so close, just there on the edge, and he knows Schofield is getting there too. He’s had to slow down his thrusts multiple times, and stop thrusting all together to hold out for Blake. He’s stopped thrusting all together to lean down to kiss Blake for several minutes, only getting by with rolls of his hips. 

__

He just needs a little something to push him over the edge. 

__

He reaches for his cock, which is red and rock hard, and barely wraps his hand around it before Schofield notices. 

__

Schofield takes one of his hands off of Blake’s hips and practically captures Blake’s wrists in a death grip. The fronts of his wrists press together and, somehow, he holds them both in one of his hands without issue. It makes him feel so small, and good God, it makes him even harder, if that’s even possible. 

__

Schofield decides, that if he ever does this again, to get rope. He’d like to get handcuffs, but they’re harder to come by in their situation, and they’d be a lot harder to steal than a bit of rope would be, but God, Blake would look so gorgeous surrendering himself like that, whether through rope or handcuffs. It makes his cock twitch inside of Blake.

__

This will be enough for now. 

__

Schofield has both of Blake’s wrists in one hand, held tightly above his head, and he snarls, “Don’t touch yourself.” His hands go limp in Schofield’s touch, and he strokes his thumb over one of Blake’s wrists. Blake’s hips thrust upward, trying desperately to receive any sort of friction on his red cock, which is practically drooling with pre-come. He so badly wants, _needs_ to come, but he so badly wants to be good for Schofield. 

__

It’s fucking _torture_. 

__

“Please, please touch me,” Blake pleads, absolutely no dignity left in his voice. He honestly sounds like if he doesn’t come, then he may actually die. “I need to come, Scho, _please_!” 

__

“Oh, baby,” Schofield starts, and Blake already doesn’t like the tone in his voice, “if you want to come, you can. You just can’t touch yourself.” 

__

Blake could cry. 

__

Schofield dips his head down towards Blake’s ear, “And you better come before me, or you’re not coming at all.”

__

Blake wants to punch him in the fucking face again.

__

“Please, Scho,” Blake’s voice cracks, “I’ve been so good, haven’t I?”

__

“You’ve been a fucking brat since we got started, darling, I warned you,” Schofield tells him, picking up his pace once more, fucking into him aggresively. Blake should’ve known, and should’ve let up, but this is so fucking good. 

__

He wants to come so badly, but he wants to prove himself to Schofield. 

__

Schofield leans down once more, whispers in his ear, “If you need me to stop, just say the word and I will.” 

__

Blake adores him.

__

He shakes his head and Schofield nods, straightening back up, and then fucks him at almost a punishing pace. It makes Schofield’s thighs burn, fucking into him like this, but it’s all worth it. 

__

Blake’s sensitivity is pushed over the edge, every touch makes him feel like his body is on fire, every thrust forces air out of him like it’ll be his last breath. He’s almost crying, tearing threatening to spill out of his eyes as he whines and shakes on Schofield’s cock. It’s all so much, it borders on too much. 

__

“You take it so well, darling,” Schofield praises him, and Blake clenches around his cock, causing Schofield to almost pause his punishing pace to let out an entire body shiver. “You haven’t got much time, baby, I’m almost there.”

__

Blake moans at the idea of being used and left there without coming, but God, he’s so close that he can’t just let up. “Talk to me,” Blake whimpers, hands scrambling to grab onto Schofield’s shoulders, and pulling him close to him. Their chests touch, but Schofield pulls up a little bit, so there’s no chance that Blake can rut against his stomach.

__

Fucker. 

__

“God, you can be such a fucking brat, baby, but you’re my fucking brat.” 

__

Blake shuts his eyes and listens to him. Schofield seems to speed up his thrusts, if that’s even remotely possible at this point. Every thrusts absolutely abuses Blake’s prostate, and sends nearly blinding shocks of pleasure through his body every single time. 

__

“You take me so well, you split yourself open on my cock so well. I’ve never seen anyone take cock as well as you.” 

__

A moan shakes through him, he’s being good. He’s started to cry, some time in the mix of the entire ordeal. 

__

“But, maybe that’s just because you’re a little whore.”

__

Blake’s eyes snap open and he moans, reaching out to just _touch_ Schofield, to keep him as close to him as possible. 

__

“Oh, you like that, huh, baby? You like being my good little whore? Oh, you’re so good, but you were absolutely made to be fucked, to open up for my cock. You like to put on a show, to make everyone think you’re an angel, but baby, you’re so sinful.” 

__

Schofield’s thrusts start to become erratic. They both realize that it is now or never for Blake. 

__

“What if I got some of the guys from the platoon to come here and watch you, hm? Do you think you’d like that? You’d like to be a little whore for everyone? Let everyone see how much of a perfect, obedient little whore you are?” 

__

Blake fucking comes. He comes hard. His orgasm causes his entire body to convulse, hands grabbing at Schofield’s shoulders as he pulls him close, arms wrapping around his body. He thrusts his spent cock against Schofield’s bare stomach, whining at the sensitivity. “God, you’re so good, so fucking hot, baby, okay, hold on,” Schofield praises him. 

__

He kisses him hard, thrusts once, twice, three times, and then spills deep inside of him. Blake can feel it, and he thinks it would be enough to get him ready to go a third time (or a fifth time, technically) but he’s utterly exhausted. He lets Schofield use his hole to ride out his high, and then, they lay there, still attached.

__

They lay there tangled in each other, Blake’s arms around Schofield’s back, Schofield’s hands cupping Blake’s face. They kiss each other like they are the oxygen that the other needs, inhale each other. 

__

Blake is the one to break the kiss and the silence, “You’re unbelievable.”

__

Schofield melts at it, and cups Blake’s jaw. He runs his fingers over the ghosting of peach fuzz on his chin and jaw, kisses him again gently on the mouth. Blake is almost too spent to kiss back, and his purses his lips lazily to try to kiss back. 

__

“You’re perfect, baby, my perfect boy,” he whispers to him. 

__

Blake laughs, blushes, and Schofield slowly, _slowly_ , pulls out of Blake. Blake moans, mostly out of pain from the sheer oversensitivity of his hole, and the sheer size of Schofield’s cock trying to get out of him. A dribble of cum follows Schofield’s cock out, and drips down onto the bed. 

__

“Did I go too far?” Schofield asks like he did earlier. 

__

Blake shakes his head, “No, no, that was… that was amazing. You’re amazing. I still can’t believe it’s you saying those things to me. I can’t believe that’s something you can just… tap into. It's like another part of your brain, or something."

__

Schofield laughs genuinely, and Blake keeps it up, "You know just how to make me come."

__

It doesn't sound romantic, in fact it sounds quite gross, but Schofield takes it that way, and he smiles.

__

“You need to rest, baby,” Schofield tells him, and he gets up slowly. 

__

Blake groans, reaches out for Schofield. “Don’t leave me,” he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Schofield laughs and goes into the drawer of the nightstand, takes out one small wash cloth, and uses it to wipe the cum off of Blake’s tummy and the sweat from his neck and forehead and the vaseline off of his own cock and the sweat from his neck. Then he climbs back into bed behind him, flesh on flesh, skin on skin.

__

He would never dream of leaving him.

__

**Author's Note:**

> might turn this into a two parter if i damn well please to!


End file.
